


The Umbrella Plight

by Chiauve



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14287899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiauve/pseuds/Chiauve
Summary: When pharmaceutical company Umbrella's researchers start disappearing, virologist and former soldier Albert Wesker goes undercover in the special forces unit STARS in order to learn about the mysterious BSAA that has Raccoon City in its pocket. But there seems to be more going on behind the scenes than he first thought, and all of this would be a lot easier if he wasn't so distracted by his team leader, Captain Chris Redfield.





	1. Throwing Leeches

**Author's Note:**

> I have a vague idea of where this story is going, but otherwise let's see what happens.

Lt. Albert Wesker was MIA in Iraq for nearly three weeks before he stumbled out of the desert upon a FOB far away from his unit's last known location, disoriented and with no memory of what had happened. He was alone, dehydrated and starving, his uniform riddled with bullet holes though he had no injuries. He didn't know where his unit was. Again he disappeared, hauled away by the army for interrogation and eventually sent home.

He came back wrong. At least that's what his co-workers in the research department of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals said. Dr. William Birkin waved off these wild rumors; Wesker had never been easy to get along with even before he left.

But Anna Muller said it too. She'd seen Wesker off at the airport and then waited all those months for him to come home, only to leave him when he did.

Despite their unpleasant parting, Dr. Marcus, CEO and founder of Umbrella, welcomed Wesker back to his old position and neither spoke again of the war or Wesker's departure. At least to each other. Marcus had been the one to hire the two teen prodigies, Wesker and Birkin, and mentor them, guiding them into positions of head researchers. He had not appreciated Wesker wanting to run off and "play hero in the desert", wasting his potential on something the average grunt could do.

Birkin considered Wesker's experiences another perspective to add to Umbrella's eclectic collection. Frankly, no one in the company was normal, as far as he could tell. Even Marcus had a strange fascination with leeches, convinced they would somehow provide him with medicinal miracles. He had tanks of them in his private laboratory that gave Birkin the creeps. Odd as it was, Marcus left his two protégés alone to do their work, practically giving them the run of the viral research facilities, so they both shrugged off their boss' eccentricities.

Then research started disappearing. Umbrella was growing, Marcus' small pharmaceutical project turning inward and focusing on research and application rather than distribution, but they were largely an unknown name outside of Raccoon City. Still, Umbrella housed some of the best minds in the country, if not the world, and their research leapt ahead of their competitors. It was no surprise their efforts were sought after or that some of their own people might have a hand in the disappearances.

There was also the BSAA.

"What are they doing here?" Wesker hissed, spying some agents milling about the Umbrella facility entrance.

Birkin shrugged. "The BSAA. They showed up about a month before you got back and have been crawling all over ever since. They're the Bioterror-"

"Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, yes I know. They had agents in Iraq. They made my work in biohazard prevention training nearly impossible. Why are they bothering with a civilian organization?"

They never got a straight answer, even when Wesker went to Marcus and demanded one. The BSAA was apparently there to stay, their agents coming and going freely, constantly questioning employees and harassing the scientists who fled to the security of the laboratories for peace. From there the BSAA stretched its fingers into the city and gripped it, claws digging deep wherever they could.

Then researchers started disappearing too, their homes raided and any Umbrella related information stolen. Every file and complaint made to the RPD was ignored or outright dismissed. Raccoon City was in the BSAA's pocket.

All security from outside agencies was removed and Wesker stepped in as Chief of Security, rewriting many protocols and overseeing his colleagues, but without official support outside the company anything beyond prevention was impossible. Wesker's research suffered as he split his attentions and Birkin had to cover for him. He was one of the few willing to do so.

Dr. Marcus continued to allow the BSAA trespasses. "They will find nothing, because we have nothing," was all he would say on the matter.

Wesker barely made it out of the old man's office before he smashed his fist into the wall. It went straight through and left a hole he didn't even bother covering up.

Birkin grew paranoid about his work, fearing its sudden disappearance, if not his own, and found excuses to stay in the labs late nearly every night. Annette became accustomed to driving a separate car to and from work, often relegated to be the one to go home to their daughter, Sherry.

Despite the hovering shadow of the BSAA, work had to be done and a semblance of normalcy returned to Umbrella, albeit a twisted one. Birkin was not the only obsessive in the company and the call of research and discovery was louder than that of those who had disappeared. Wesker's personal projects suffered and then fell through, forgotten as he attempted to track down their missing people or found himself the recipient of complaints from his colleagues about lost research or blatant harassment from the BSAA agents always prowling around.

Confronting an agent who dared lay a hand on one of the Umbrella scientists trying to get to her lab had earned Wesker a reprimand directly from Marcus, including a harsh reminder he wasn't in the military anymore and to damn well act like the scientist he was _supposed_ to be.

"I need to get out of here," Wesker confided in Birkin later.

"Where would you go? The military won't take you now, and I doubt any other company would at the moment either. We seem to be tainted."

It all came to a head on a Tuesday night when the shrill cry of the phone startled Wesker from sleep. He glanced, bleary and red-eyed at the clock. Almost two in the morning. He snatched the wireless phone from its cradle at the second ring, ready to murder.

"What-?"

"They're at my _house_ , Wesker!"

Birkin's panicked voice snapped him to wakefulness and he was already getting out of bed.

"Are you home?"

"No, Annette called me, but you're closer and they're there now and I…"

"I'm on it," Wesker said and then hung up. Adrenaline surged and he moved with a speed he hadn't needed since the army, ready and out the door in a mere moments, pistol holstered and mind spinning.

This was his chance. Get one of the bastards under his boot and at the end of the barrel of his gun and watch him squirm. Finally get some answers. He jumped into his old coupe and barreled down the street, somehow suspecting he wasn't going to meet any police along the way. Wouldn't want a cop nearby to interfere with an unlawful BSAA raid, after all.

The Birkins' floodlights were on when Wesker slammed his car into the curb, not bothering to properly park much less pull into the driveway. Half the lights of the house were lit, the front door standing wide open and movement visible in the windows. The rest of the picturesque suburban neighborhood was dark, no one daring to even poke their head out or respond to the shouting coming from the house.

Wesker got out of the car sprinting, arms pumping and practically flying across the damp lawn straight to that open door, pistol drawn.

The entry hall was in shambles. Coats on the floor, their pockets pulled out, the hallway table on its side, the drawer tossed away with papers and cards strewn across the hardwood floor. The closet under the stairs was open, more coats and boxes lying about. Some picture frames had been knocked off the wall in both the hall and on the stairway in a struggle; Annette trying to keep their assailants back, perhaps. She was a stubborn woman when she needed to be, and protecting her home and daughter went beyond stubborn and into something more formidable.

More shouting and sounds of breaking were coming from the kitchen, followed by the tearing of cloth and a screech. Wesker burst into the kitchen at a run and did not stop until he reached the first person he did not recognize, cracking his pistol across the back of their skull and sending them to the floor.

One down for now, and Wesker took a quick glance around the kitchen: Annette was by the sink, shielding Sherry best she could while attempting to deter the men by throwing her dishware at them. Fiestaware, Wesker knew, very heavy. She was on her last plates and one of them was wrestling with her, tearing her clothes. There were two more, one coming in from Birkin's office, a stack of papers in hand, and one in the dining area, surprised but already training his pistol on Wesker.

Wesker was faster. The shot was loud in the early morning stillness and out of place in the tasteful kitchen, and both the agent and Annette dropped; Annette at the sound alone, instinctively getting down and covering her daughter, and the agent from the bullet in his chest.

Time slowed for Wesker as the one in the doorway lunged for him. An intense focus born of his military years and honed afterwards by martial arts training had him moving even before the gun finished its recoil, snapping the hot barrel across the agent's face. He barely registered the man spinning back into the ransacked cupboard before he was on the one attacking Annette, slamming him back into the sink and pinning him with his pistol arm while his free hand smashed repeatedly into the man's face.

"Get upstairs," Wesker snapped at Annette when the world sped up again and the agent's struggle weakened beneath him. He vaguely noticed her herding Sherry out before he threw a few more punches, reveling in the blood dripping from the man's nose and mouth into the sink.

"Two in the morning and you're going after a mother and child in their home," he sneered, "seems hardly becoming of an agency that champions the safety of the people against bioterrorism."

Wesker removed his forearm from the man's throat, instead placing the tip of his gun against the agent's temple while his other hand grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him upright.

"I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them, otherwise I pull this trigger. I have two more of you to play with, so don't think I won't. What the hell is the BSAA doing here? You've got companies like Tricell throwing god-knows-what out onto the black market, don't pretend they don't, and yet you're wasting resources on _Umbrella_?"

Wesker conceded to himself he may have hit the agent too hard, he looked more confused than threatened and barely able to string a few words together, much less answer his questions. He gave the man a shake and was about to grab a dishrag and crank on the faucet for a bit of impromptu water boarding as a refreshing wake-up when a sharp pain lashed through his skull and he hit the floor, dazed.

He'd been struck from behind by one of the other men. Even in his stupor Wesker had enough mental capacity to berate his stupidity. He'd gotten so caught up in his revelry he'd forgotten to ensure the two he'd dropped were going to stay down, like an amateur. He expected to be shot but instead received a few kicks in the gut before a gun was shoved against his head, mirroring and mocking the position he'd held mere seconds before. The pistol he dropped was kicked away. One of the other men cursed as he checked the man Wesker shot and the agent who held a gun to his head was trying to rouse the bloodied mess Wesker tried to question. He moaned and moved, slowly and unsure. The agent crouching over him returned his attention to Wesker and pushed the barrel of the gun harder, forcing Wesker to turn his head.

"My turn for questions. Who do you work for? Umbrella? Did they hire new muscle?"

The bloodied man was up now, staggering towards the shot agent. The other one gave him some quick directions about the downed man, then got up and began to head towards the hallway, after Annette and Sherry.

"Answer me!" the gun clipped Wesker across the cheek. A bead of blood dropped to the wood floor. It was bright red and a wisp of steam escaped it before it dulled. The air grew cold against Wesker's skin.

These men were here for Birkin, he was too important to Umbrella to be ignored, and Annette was also a researcher and William's assistant. It was unlikely they would leave Sherry as a loose end.

Would they take her, too? Use her against her parents? Or would they…

Wesker's fingers curled inward, nails leaving tracks on the floor, and his muscles tensed in readiness. He had one lunge and the gun was going to go off. He had to do this right.

He turned his head towards the agent, ignoring the metal of the gun pressing into his skull, and met the man's eyes, teeth bared in fury.

One lunge. One shot.

The gun retreated from his head as the agent stood and stepped away from him, face paling under the line of blood running down his face, his eyes wide.

"What the hell," he hissed, then aimed his gun at Wesker as he began to back away. "I'm calling it," he snapped into his headset, "Abort, we're getting out of here."

His weapon still trained on Wesker, the agent backed towards his downed man, assisting the other in dragging him out. As soon as the gun was no longer on him Wesker dove forward and grabbed his pistol before charging after them into the hall.

Another shot rang out and Wesker threw himself against the staircase for cover. The fourth agent who'd gone after Annette and Sherry was coming down the stairs, guarding his team's escape. When they were out the door he followed, turning to back out the door and firing a shot to keep Wesker back.

Everything in Wesker howled for him to pursue, his pride and need for answers demanded it, and yet that last string of _something_ that bound him to Birkin and Marcus and Umbrella whispered that he was here to protect Annette and Sherry. Birkin had called him.

Wesker sighed in frustration and lowered his pistol, waiting for the sound of a vehicle, no doubt designed to haul away unsuspecting researchers, to fade away down the street.

With all the gunfire and yelling, Wesker expected police to show up, even with the BSAA agents present, but the night grew quiet and no one came.

Wesker holstered his pistol and went upstairs to check on Annette and Sherry.

\-- 

When William Birkin burst through the front door he found his home trashed but his family safe. They were in the kitchen, surrounded by shattered porcelain and strewn papers. Sherry was nursing a glass of chocolate milk at the dinner table, Wesker seated beside her while Annette tried to tend to the injury on the back of his head.

"It looks like it's already stopped bleeding," she said, fishing through his hair. Startled out of bed as he was he didn't have time to slick it back as was his habit.

"I heal fast," he said by way of an explanation and waved her away. He scratched absently at the child's bandaid with cartoon lions on his cheek before he noticed William.

"Daddy!" Sherry cried, leaping out of her chair and running into his arms. She clung to him and sobbed, the earlier terror subdued by action finally pouring out now that both her parents were there.

Aside from a few bruises and a torn shirt, Annette and Sherry were fine. It had been to their fortune this time that Annette could be just as restless as her husband in regards to their work and was still awake in her office when she heard the BSAA agents break in. They were quiet enough that had she been asleep she would have never woken up until they had her. She immediately grabbed the wireless phone and ran to Sherry's room where she and her daughter hid in the closet until being discovered and dragged downstairs.

"You called 911?" William asked.

"I did, the dispatcher said someone was on the way but…" she gestured to the front of the house and the empty street.

"Don't they stay on the line with you until someone comes?"

"Well," Annette looked a tad sheepish, "she told me to but I hung up anyway and called you."

"Good thing, it turns out," Birkin muttered. He glanced at Wesker, still sitting at the table, "Thanks, Wesker."

He shrugged. "I meant to get some answers out of one but that scenario was not to be. Still, I've now confirmed that it is BSAA agents going after our people."

"You're sure they were BSAA?"

"Yes. They may have stripped themselves of identification but their uniforms are…generically obvious. They wore the same thing in Iraq."

William stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to pace around his kitchen, absently kicking broken dishware. "So what do we do now?"

He was handling this decently well, Wesker thought, considering his ransacked office. After checking on his family Birkin had indeed run to it, bemoaning its state.

"You're not supposed to keep work projects here," Wesker reminded him.

"I don't, but I have other projects to keep track of. And I have a lecture down at the college next week…"

"That has already been cancelled, I'm sure, what with your 'planned departure'."

It grew quiet; the only sound was Sherry who had finally detached herself from her father to try to be useful in picking up the broken remains of her mother's dishware.

"Sherry, honey, go to bed," Annette said, "Everything's okay now."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep," she said, voice small and pleading, "Can I stay down here with you? Please?"

"You can't send her to school in the morning," Wesker interjected, "The BSAA will try again, if it doesn't decide to get rid of you, now that you are witnesses."

Annette couldn't help but glare at Wesker for his bluntness in front of her daughter but only said, "Alright, Sherry. But sit down and be quiet, we have a lot to talk about."

The girl nodded obediently and hurried back to the table to sit where she deemed the safest place in the house: Wesker's lap. He helped her settle then handed her the glass of milk she left. A long-time friend of her father, Sherry had known Wesker all her life and was fond of him even before he'd come running in to heroically save her and her mother. In a decision remnant of his upbringing, Birkin had chosen Wesker as Sherry's godfather when she was born.

"He's right, Annette. We can't stay here."

"In truth, we shouldn't even be sitting here now," Wesker said, "You have family out of state, don't you?"

"My parents in Missouri," Annette confirmed.

"Perhaps you should go visit them. Take a leave of absence. Considering all the hard work you've done since…always, I think Marcus owes you that." Three, two, one, cue William…

"I can't abandon my work, Wesker!"

"The HIV virus will still be here when you get back, I promise you. Consider a month or two delay versus complete abandonment when you disappear. I can't always protect you!"

"Perhaps," Annette began, cutting off the rising tension between the two men, "I can take Sherry and stay with my parents a while. William can stay in the labs. I know you two have cots set up for when you used to pull all nighters, and he practically lives there already. He'd be safe there, wouldn't he?"

Poor Annette, just as dedicated to her husband's work as the day she fell in love with him and was dazzled by his genius and vision.

"He'd be safer than here, but I can't guarantee anything. The only places the BSAA agents aren't allowed are the labs, and who knows for long before they somehow get clearances. You'd basically be in lockdown, William."

Birkin shrugged, "So it'll be like the old days when we were always accidentally setting off quarantine. I'll manage."

Sherry shifted in Wesker's lap, tired but still too jittery for sleep. "We're going away?"

"Only for a little while, dear heart," Wesker said, "Just until I figure out what's going on."

"And how are you going to do that? Kidnap some of their people?" Birkin asked.

"Tempting as that is, no. The BSAA has entrenched themselves well into the entire city, even into emergency services. I'm going to have to play their game, talk to their people, work in their spaces. The police have disregarded everything involving the BSAA, so that's as good of a place to start as any. Marcus is right, I haven't been playing the part of a scientist lately."

Birkin sighed, glancing out the windows into the dark backyard. "You're going to have to leave Umbrella if you do this. You can't have ties to us."

"Most likely."

"Marcus is going to be so angry if you take off again."

"What's he going to do? Throw a leech at me?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Birkin chuckled.

Wesker smirked and stood, hefting a dozing Sherry up onto his shoulder. "Get packed. I'll drive you to the station. You and Sherry take the next train out of here, Annette."

"The train station is in the next county," she said, gently taking her daughter from Wesker and setting her down. Sherry rubbed at her eyes but didn't complain.

"Yes it is. William will see you both off then he and I will go to the labs."

She looked to Birkin who nodded. "Could you throw a few of my things into a bag for me?"

"Of course."

"Do be quick, the sooner we are out of here the better," Wesker said.

Annette guided Sherry towards the hall and stairway. William watched them go, for the first time looking unsure at the idea of being separated.

"Just say the word and I'll put you on the train with them," Wesker said softly, "You can tell Annette I overpowered you."

"No…She understands how important our work is."

"And Sherry?"

"I was talking about Sherry," a pause and then Birkin continued, "Are we taking your car?"

"Yes. Best they don't know where you went."

"I hate that deathtrap of a vehicle."

"I'm not the one driving a Volkswagon bus that still smells like weed decades after you bought it. Something to tell me?"

"Nothing at all. Damnit, I'm tired. I'm going to have to crash when we get to work."

" _You_ are tired?" Wesker grumbled, scrubbing at his face, "I'm the one driving, I'm the one who fought off four BSAA agents, I'm the one who's going to have to talk to Marcus…"

"I'd say I'm sorry but my family's safety overrides your full night's sleep."

"Willliam, I haven't had a full night's sleep since I met you."

Birkin pat him on the shoulder in mild sympathy. "Well then, I guess you're practically a cop already."


	2. Sawing Monkey Skulls

            Wesker was not the trusting kind, and yet his profession required it of him as he took point down the darkened corridor, gun at the ready and his focus on what was in front and around him; he had to trust his team to watch his back.

            Coming to an intersection, he checked both directions before he signaled to the others behind him it was clear and waited. He could hear Captain Redfield whisper into his ear piece, louder than Wesker would have liked but unavoidable at the moment as he received information from bravo team still outside, ready to storm the building. When Redfield went quiet Wesker felt a soft touch to his left arm from a feminine hand.

            _Ready - go left_ , it said. He moved down the corridor as Jill slid out behind him, covering the right as the rest of the team followed Wesker and then replacing Barry's position at the rear.

            Wesker moved slowly, taking his time and ensuring none of the terrorists were hiding in the shadows of lockers, looming tall in the low light. Fortunately Wesker had good night vision, so much so that Jill had grabbed him when they first entered the building, pointing to his face and giving him a _what the hell_ expression. He'd still been wearing his shades.

            Another bit of fortune was the terrorists waiting to make their move until well after school hours when the children were gone. Their hostages were faculty pulling late hours and they kept the RPD from acting. So far there were no casualties.

            The RPD remained outside, guns trained on the windows and negotiator on the line. Bravo was posted at various entrances ready to bust in should things go south and feeding Captain Redfield information directly. Alpha team was to infiltrate and assess the situation and, if possible, take down the terrorists without the risk of a full-on firefight.

            Ignoring the classrooms, Wesker headed straight to the door at the end of the corridor. The terrorists had holed themselves up in the faculty break room which should be through the door and down another hallway. He stood against the wall and peered through the window. There was no one he could see. He gently tested the door handle and found it locked. Another signal to Joseph behind him and soon the team fanned out around him while Jill came forward, deftly picking the lock while Wesker watched the corridor beyond through the window. When she finished she gave him a thumbs up and slid back into position behind him.

            Slowly, still watching for any signs of movement, Wesker pushed open the door and entered, scanning the entryway before signaling the others and moving forward. They were approaching the faculty break room and the terrorists might have posted a guard; caution was essential.

            Fortunately the terrorists were apparently feeling confident in their position as Wesker glanced around the last corner and saw no one. He halted the team with a gesture as he stared at the small window in the door, watching for movement in the dim light that no one was looking out in turn. Nothing. Though the lights in the room were off the windows made it brighter than the hallway and Wesker was certain he would have seen someone.

            They could hear one of the terrorists speaking, though it was muffled. Hopefully they were distracted as that and the lack of guards would be moving things into alpha team's favor.

           Wesker approached the door, walking along the wall and practically hugging it as he slid into position beside the door, peering in through the window. There were three armed men he could see…where were the other two? The report said there were five. Four hostages, one on their knees while a terrorist stood over him, yelling.

            Shit.

            Wesker waved the team over. Once they filed in behind him he turned and relayed the information to Captain Redfield: _see_ _three armed - four civilian - civilian danger_.

            Redfield nodded and whispered to bravo, "Situation, we're going in," then signaled to the team to get on line.

            The team pressed close behind Wesker, ready to breach the room. He could feel Jill breathing she was so close. His adrenaline surged and the world sharpened into focus, so clear he could almost taste the air. He reached out and slowly turned the door handle, too slowly to be noticed, and felt rather than heard the click of the latch clearing. With his gun hand he reached back and tapped Jill, letting her know he was ready. She passed it back along the team who would then return it to Wesker to let him know that they were ready and he could breach the room. The members of STARS had done it enough times in training and in the field that they performed this quickly and smoothly.

            Wesker was suddenly shoved forward unprepared, slamming him into the unlatched door and throwing it open before he toppled to the floor. He'd never received Jill's tap; someone jumped the gun.

            Fortunately, the terrorists were so caught off guard themselves that for the split-second it took for Wesker to trip and Jill to recover she already took over Wesker's position, swinging her weapon into the blind spot beside the door and firing as one of the men Wesker hadn't seen raised a rifle. The team continued to barrel in after her, unable to worry about Wesker on the ground and focused only on their enemies and the screaming civilians. Redfield yelled for the terrorists to drop their weapons and fired on those who didn't immediately comply. The civilians hit the floor and covered their heads. Wesker did the same, trying to protect himself as his team trampled him.

            It was over in seconds. Chris called for status of his men and everyone responded. Wesker sat up and holstered his gun, pains in his lower back and left knee where he'd been stepped on making themselves known. Two of the five terrorists surrendered and were being manhandled onto the floor and into zip ties by Joseph.

            Chris turned to Wesker. "Were you hit?"

            "No," Wesker growled, feeling his face heat with shame, "I tripped."

            Chris nodded and pulled him to his feet. Here was not the place to discuss that massive fuck up, they'd cover it later during debrief. Wesker shot a glare at Joseph (because _who else_ would have impulsively pushed into a breach before the front man?) and considered having that _discussion_ a bit early.

            Jill gave Wesker an apologetic wince as they both evacuated the hostages. He probably had a boot imprint on his lower back where, in her attempt not to trip along with him, she'd caught herself by stomping on him instead. He ignored her.

            Bravo and the rest of the RPD swarmed into the scene and controlled chaos broke out. Wesker was glad to be out of that as STARS slowly trickled back outside. He put his shades on as the press circled around like the vultures they were. The chaos began to quiet as ambulances took away the hostages and the terrorists that had been shot. He was certain at least one was already dead. Captain Redfield was an incredible marksman and would have gone for the man threatening the civilian first. The two that surrendered were hauled off in police cars.

            STARS had nothing left to do here; the rest would be handled by the RPD. They waited for Captain Redfield to clear them to leave but he was busy getting an earful from the deputy. Something about rushing in before being cleared. Wesker didn't envy the captain. He stretched and bent his wrenched knee a couple of times until something popped and the pain faded.

 

* * *

 

            Dr. Marcus had not approved of this infiltration plan at all, but Wesker knew he'd have a better chance falsifying records with his help. None of Wesker's complaints to Marcus had worked thus far to spur him to action of any kind, so he'd changed tactics.

            "They went after William," he said, sitting in his former mentor's office, facing the man across an elaborate desk that made the space seem greater than it was, "They attacked Annette and scared his little girl."

            Dr. Marcus was not an emotional man. Logic and science was not just his job and passion but his way of life and thinking, and yet he had been the one to bring Birkin and Wesker into his fold. He had ensured their education and care, dealt continually with Birkin's family and, briefly, took guardianship of Wesker until he'd turned eighteen. If Marcus could have attachments to anyone it would be the two of them, so Wesker tossed the emotional bait and reeled slowly.

            And so Dr. Albert Wesker was wiped from Umbrella. Birkin removed his name from digital records beyond the employee ones; every project he'd been attached to, every credit and footnote. Wesker hated his hard work being erased but Birkin assured him as he was removed so he could be returned. The hard copies of all the files couldn't be altered and were locked away should anyone contest his contributions later.

            The worst part was stripping himself of his hard earned doctorates. His presence in Umbrella was reduced to a mere security guard should anyone go digging or he happen across any BSAA agents who'd recognize him.

            Wesker wondered through this whole process why he was even bothering.

 

* * *

 

            "Debrief tomorrow morning," Captain Redfield informed alpha and bravo teams, "until then go get some rest; you all earned it."

            Wesker turned to leave when a hand on his arm held him up. Captain Redfield regarded him with concerned eyes and Wesker couldn't help but raise a brow at the intensity in them.

            "Do you need to get checked out?" Redfield asked, his voice low and gesturing to the medics still clustered around the ambulance.

            "Just some minor bruising," Wesker said, pulling his arm free, "I'm fine, Captain."

            STARS began to disperse, pulling off their gear and heading to their own vehicles parked farther away. They were on-call twenty-four hours a day and kept a secondary set of gear at home in case of emergencies where going to the RPD first would take too much time and they needed to be on-site as soon as possible. Captain Redfield didn't care about the uniformity of the secondary gear and it resulted in STARS sometimes having a motley appearance of different colors and types as the team used remnant gear from any previous jobs they'd had or whatever they could pick up. This also meant they could sometimes go straight home after a mission rather than return to the RPD to turn it all in. The downside was that maintenance and upkeep of this gear was on their own time.

            Wesker removed and then tossed his tactical vest into the back of his coupe when he saw Joseph heading to his own truck, held up after a friendly chat with Redfield, no doubt. In the blink of an eye, Wesker was on him, slamming Joseph's back into his truck and pinning him there with an arm across his throat.

            "What the hell!"

           "You jump the gun during a mission like that again, and I will throw you into the line of fire myself," Wesker said softly, almost casual, but with a sharp edge in his tone accented by his forearm pressing further into Joseph's windpipe. "When I'm fronting, _I_ decide when we breach and when we move forward, do you understand?"

            "Wesker!"

            "What are you _doing_?!"

            "Get off him!"

            At the command from his captain Wesker released him and stepped back, hardly cowed and arms crossed in annoyance. Joseph's hand leapt to his throat and he gasped but was otherwise only a little ruffled. Redfield quickly stepped between the two, facing Wesker.

            "What was that?"

            Wesker kept his tone controlled, "He jumped the breach before I received the signal everyone was ready which resulted in my fall. As point man my life is already at the highest risk and I don't need that chance increased because of hotheads. I felt a quick reminder was in order."

            "You don't attack your teammates!" Redfield snapped, "If you have a problem you bring it to me and I'll deal with it!"

            But you _won't_ , Wesker nearly retorted but held his tongue. The young captain had yet to learn the lesson of keeping himself separate from his subordinates and he and Joseph were friends. They hung out during off hours. He'd already turned a blind eye to a few minor indiscretions if not outright encouraged them. Aside from the occasional eye-roll from Jill the rest of the team seemed to tolerate this.

            Redfield stepped closer to him as though trying to create the illusion of privacy while nearly the entire team stared at them. "I've already talked to you about your attitude, Wesker. You need to at least _try_ to get along with the team or I'm not going to be able to keep you around, got it?"

            He was not going to win this and he couldn't risk dismissal, so Wesker nodded, hissed out a "Yes, Captain", and stiffly returned to his car, inwardly raging.

            Captain Chris Redfield was not completely incompetent; the potential was there, he'd make a good soldier, but the man was not even twenty-four and lacked the experience for Wesker to put faith in him as a leader. Enrico of Bravo Team should have been captain; he had both the experience and the achievements, and yet was playing second-fiddle to Redfield.

            There had been strings pulled somewhere, no doubt. Was it the BSAA or did Redfield have his own connections?

            Still, Wesker had a part to play and it was due to Captain Redfield that he was accepted into STARS at all. He had badly underestimated the weight of his medical discharge from the army and how the RPD would view him in light of it.

            A mental breakdown, it said.

            _Crazy_ was what everyone heard.

            He'd gone into the desert with his unit and came out alone, not knowing what had happened and covered in blood. The human imagination ran from there. His men's families, who had once always been glad to hear from him, would no longer take his calls. His old unit finally told him to stop contacting them when he'd keep asking if his men had been found yet. They were the only ones who could clear his name.

            Chris Redfield opened the door the RPD had slammed in Wesker's face and said he'd do an interview.

            It didn't begin too well, or at least Wesker thought. Captain Redfield kept giving him an odd look as he flipped through Wesker's file.

            "You spent time in juvie," Chris said. It wasn't a question, but he clearly wanted more details.

            "I stole some cars," Wesker shrugged. There may have also been some assaults. "I got out and went straight," he said, laying the foundation of truth for the lies he knew he was going to have to start building.

            Redfield actually smirked at that. "Maybe I should team you up with Jill."

            Wesker didn't know who that was yet and for the time being didn't care. He said nothing and let Redfield shuffle through the paperwork, apparently winging this interview. His juvenile records were technically sealed but an outfit like STARS would have access. He was glad of it. If they focused on his juvenile delinquency and subsequent name change when he turned eighteen there was less focus on his job history. The fake employment record that had been made for him should hold up under a basic background check but he worried it would collapse under intense scrutiny. Fortunately for him Redfield didn't seem to be the brightest bulb in the STARS chandelier.

            Chandelier indeed, the Raccoon City Police Department was in an old art museum and impressive, save the offices that suffered in space and windows. Still, he wondered what secrets the building held and hoped to go prowling around sometime.

            Redfield frowned slightly as he perused the file, lips pursed in thought. "You worked for Umbrella?"

            "I was a security guard," Wesker said, keeping his voice casual as though he hadn't noticed Redfield's change in demeanor, "Started checking passes at the gate and worked my way up second-level security. I honestly spent more time shepherding the scientists around. They get unhinged at night."

            Second level required a clearance but did not give access to laboratories or anything of importance. Council and break rooms, mostly. The BSAA already had a presence there. "All those years of hard work and then they purged most of us."

            "Really? Why did they do that?"

            Nice try. "Companies like that have a lot of rivals and espionage does happen. Then the BSAA showed up, so who knows. Maybe Umbrella is hiding something. If so then I guess it's best I got let go before anything comes up."

            Chris nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. More file flipping.

            "You had good marks in school…" Redfield paused, eyebrows rising as he regarded the files, "Really good. And until your dismissal your military record was excellent…"

            Wesker knew it was coming and yet still couldn't help but bristle. "There was more to that supposed breakdown than what the discharge lets on."

            Redfield blinked at him as though surprised by the reaction and set down the file. "Look, it's okay. I was in the Air Force for a short time but there was… an issue and I was discharged. It was honorable, but still. So I get it, sometimes things just get messy. Hell, even if your discharge papers are correct down to the letter, so what? It's a warzone and you had a breakdown. It happens. I mean," his voice softened slightly, "it's most likely you were a POW, right? Nobody should blame you for that."

            Wesker nodded. Much as he loathe it, sympathy was an easy way to get people to view you more favorably, although in this case it was a double edged sword; too much sympathy and Redfield would view him too weak for the position.

            "Thank you, Captain," he said, appreciative yet confident, as though it was something he already knew.

            Still, he had not realized how badly something inside him needed to hear that.

            "The truth is," he continued, knowing that it was time to get to the point and lay it on, "I miss feeling like I'm doing something worthwhile. I went back to my old job because that's what I knew, but it's not enough for me anymore."

            It was not entirely a lie. After the army, going back to the labs had not been as easy as he'd assumed. He lost patience with the repetitious work and the enthusiasm of discovery he once felt had dwindled, pressed down under the weight of windowless grey walls.

            "I'm good at what I do, Captain. I was regularly out in the field with my men getting my hands dirty, but I was also an officer, so I know my way around paperwork and -if you'll pardon me- official bullshit."

            Chris Redfield said nothing for a long moment, just regarded him with an intense look that, briefly, made Wesker uncomfortable and well aware he was not wearing his shades. Had he possibly underestimated the man? Was Redfield far more adept at reading people than Wesker initially assumed? However he did not flinch from the gaze and instead returned it with the same blank stare he gave Sherry when he assured her that neither he nor her parents ever experimented on cute, fuzzy animals, even as he had, merely an hour before, been sawing open a monkey's skull.

            Captain Redfield smiled. "I could use someone who can handle the official bullshit and paperwork."

            "I'm not doing yours."

            He laughed then, and welcomed Wesker to STARS.

 

* * *

 

            Like most nights, Wesker didn't make it to his bed. He dropped his tactical gear on the floor as he came in the front door, put his weapons on the coffee table, and then face-planted onto his couch where he planned to stay until morning.

            The phone rang and Wesker screamed into the cushion.

            "What?" he snarled into the receiver, having rolled off the couch and alternatively crawled and run to the phone in the kitchen.

            "Do you yell at everyone over the phone?"

            "Birkin, do you know what time it is?"

            "…No."

            Wesker sighed. "It's one in the morning. _One in the morning_. I have to get up in four hours and I haven't slept yet."

            "Busy day, huh?"

            "Why are you calling? Oh hell, are you calling from the lab?"

            "Well I can't really leave."

            " _Will!_ "

            "What? Do you want me to send you notes by courier?"

            "That would be great, actually!" Wesker snapped, "Multiple couriers are one of the best untraceable methods of information delivery!"

            "Anyway, Annette and Sherry are coming back Wednesday evening. Do you think you can pick them up?"

            "Of course, is that all?"

            "No, uh…I have some bad news and something to show you and I don’t think we should talk about it over the line. You're going to have to come here."

            Wesker thunked his head against the wall in frustration. "Umbrella is crawling with agents right now, I can't be seen back there after supposedly being fired."

            "I'll unlock one of the old emergency escape hatches for you. Number three. I'm pretty sure the BSAA doesn't know about those."

            Most of the staff didn't even know those existed, and Birkin and Wesker only knew because of their penchant to stick their noses in everything in their youths and Marcus indulging them. Hatch three was in a sewer entrance in the park and close enough he could slip into the labs after work.

            "This is important, right?"

            "Yeah. McKenzie's gone missing."

            Shit.

            "I'll try to come after work; I go running in the park sometimes so it won't seem suspicious."

            "Thanks, Al."

            He hung up without any useless goodbyes. The light on his answering machine was blinking and he switched it to playback since he was already standing there. The first was his mother, attempting to reconnect with him. He skipped it without listening. The second was the owner of a house for rent on the edge of town, saying she'd received his deposit and he was free to come pick up the keys whenever. The third was old, from last week, and was Barry inviting him to a team barbecue that had already occurred and he didn't attend.

            He erased them all and went to bed, not bothering to change but at least in his actual bed this time. He dreamt of screaming and low groans as bloody hands reached for him.

* * *

 


End file.
